


How nicknames are acquired

by leslytherinphoenix



Series: Agent Carter one-shots [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 15:38:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3139622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leslytherinphoenix/pseuds/leslytherinphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a moment of hesitation, the waitress spins around. “Say, you’re from England, aren’t you?”</p><p>Peggy isn’t really surprised. People are forward here, and she’s used to it, and the way this girl is looking at her with a light but insatiable curiosity is oddly nice.</p><p>Pre-show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How nicknames are acquired

Peggy curses and sprints onto the sidewalk, barely missing a puddle with the heel of her shoe. The car that almost hit her honks again when it drives past, and someone shouts, “Hey! Watch where you’re going!” out of the window. 

It’s pouring, seemingly out of nowhere. If there had even been the slightest hint of rain in the sky when Peggy woke up and opened her threadbare curtains, she would’ve packed an umbrella, but the sky was blue and only blue, so now she’s stuck in the middle of town with a velvet hat that she definitely doesn’t want to ruin. She takes of her hat, dips her head, and tries to move, fast. 

Grey and dark-blue suits swipe past her. She looks up and sees a sea of umbrellas, bobbing up and down with the carrier’s footsteps. It starts to rain harder, big, fat raindrops that sting on Peggy’s face. She can feel her socks squishing in her shoes. Peggy sighs. 

She goes for another block or so, trying to avoid the larger puddles. The rain doesn’t let up. If I keep going like this, Peggy thinks, clutching her hat closer to her chest, I’ll be dripping when I get to work. Looking around and figuring she has no other options, she ducks inside a small, greasy-looking diner, exactly the kind of thing she hopes America will have stopped embracing in seven or eight years. 

“Can I get you a table?” A waitress asks from the right, and Peggy turns, not quite wanting to force a smile but feeling like she has to. 

“I think I’ll just wait the rain out—” Peggy starts to explain, feeling soaked strands of hair stick to her face. The waitress’s eyes go big and her curls seem to droop, and something about her entire person is so endearing that Peggy gives up, sighs, and says, “Oh, alright.” 

The waitress smiles and grabs a menu off the counter. “So today, we’ve got a pancake special,” she says when Peggy sits down and hangs her coat over the back of her chair. “You get a pancake and two eggs.” 

She pauses, chews her lip. “And coffee.” 

“I think I’ll just have the coffee.” Peggy rubs her arms, hoping she’ll warm up. 

“I’ll get right to it,” the waitress says. 

She starts to walk away, but after what seems like a second of hesitation spins back around. “Say, you’re from England, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Peggy replies, not really surprised. People are forward here, and she’s used to it, and the way this girl is looking at her with a light but insatiable curiosity is oddly nice. 

The waitress smiles and sits down, resting her elbows on the table. “Because I have this audition next week, and I’m auditioning for an English lady—” 

“Angie!” Someone shouts from the back room, and the waitress—Angie, Peggy supposes—flinches and stands up, knocking against the table. “Angie, you’re being paid!” 

“Sorry,” Angie says and backs away. She grimaces, only for a second. “I’ll be right back with your coffee, English.” 

English. How delightfully American.


End file.
